


Inevitable

by darkestlordsaroon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Flirting, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Nightmares, POV Remus Lupin, Past Child Abuse, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Various Weasleys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkestlordsaroon/pseuds/darkestlordsaroon
Summary: Stuck in Grimmauld Place, haunted by the past, Remus and Sirius try to pick up the broken pieces of their tumultuous relationship.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 53
Kudos: 255
Collections: Wolfstar Hurt Fest





	Inevitable

Dumbledore’s arrival is spontaneous and without warning, as always. 

Remus has just stepped out of the shower and is towelling his hair dry when there is a sharp rap on his front door. Remus curses under his breath, grabbing the first pair of trousers he can find and pulling a slightly yellowed undershirt on over his still wet hair.

The first thing Remus notices is that Dumbledore is not smiling. The second is the large, shaggy black dog waiting by his side. Remus’ breath catches in his throat.

“Mr Lupin,” Dumbledore says, not moving from his spot on the threshold. “I trust I can count on your discretion?”

“I — yeah,” Remus stammers. The dog’s tail hangs between its legs, eyes downcast.

“He’s not to leave the premises, in any form,” Dumbledore says firmly. The dog whines.

“Alright,” Remus replies. He opens the door wider and the dog slinks past him.

Remus looks up at Dumbledore expectantly. Dumbledore’s expression seems incredibly grave.

“He will explain everything,” he says dismissively. “You will hear from us shortly, I imagine.”

Us?

“Right,” Remus says.

Dumbledore nods and Disapparates with a twirl of his purple robes. Remus stares at the spot he vanished from for a moment, heart pounding loudly in his ears. Eventually, he shuts the door, feeling the thrum of the wards as they buzz back into place.

Sirius is standing in the middle of his tiny, cramped excuse for a living room, staring at the floor. He’s just as gaunt as he was a year ago, if slightly more tanned, skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. He’s wearing what Remus assumes are stolen clothes; torn jeans nearly two times too big, and a jumper so filthy Remus can’t quite determine what its original colour was.

“Would you, er,” Remus begins, not sure what to say. “Like something to drink?”

Sirius raises a shoulder in a shrug. He has yet to meet Remus’ eyes. Remus bites his lip.

“Bath’s through that door,” Remus says, pointing. “If you prefer to, er, wash up.”

“Okay.” Sirius’ voice is raspy and hoarse and Remus startles at the sound of it.

“I can get a bath running,” Remus offers. “Unless you - do you have a wand?”

Sirius’ Adam’s apple bobs sharply in his throat as he swallows. “Yeah.”

“Right. So.” Remus feels off kilter. His own voice sounds very far away. “You do that, I’ll get you some clothes. And then.”

_ Then you can explain what the  _ fuck  _ is going on. _

“Okay,” Sirius says again. He turns and heads into the bathroom, door shutting softly behind him.

Remus sits down heavily on the sofa. He’d spent the better part of a year trying very hard to  _ not _ think about the man currently stripping in his bathroom. Their last, and only, meeting had been so very abrupt, so full of adrenaline and hope and  _ could this be it? _ Only for Remus to ruin everything by transforming, allowing Peter to escape, forcing Sirius to run, yet again.

He’d told himself that it wasn’t worth thinking about. That Sirius was in hiding, and the likelihood of Remus ever seeing him again was infinitesimal. The Aurors would catch him, the Dementors would get him, Dumbledore would keep him locked up. Something,  _ anything _ , other than what was currently happening.

Remus heaves a sigh and gets up to go find Sirius some clothes. He manages to scrounge up a pair of joggers and jumper that don’t have any holes or patches. He grabs a towel from the linen closet and hesitates outside the bathroom door.

“I’ve got you some clothes,” he says, voice slightly raised.

No response.

“Shall I leave them out here?”

Silence.

Remus presses his ear to the door and can hear nothing, not even soft splashes that would indicate Sirius is washing himself.

“Sirius?”

Remus tries the knob; it’s unlocked. He pushes the door open slowly, giving Sirius ample time to object. Still nothing.

He pokes his head in to see Sirius asleep in the tub, slumped so low his nose is nearly underwater. His bony knees poke up above the water, resting on either side of the bathtub. Something in Remus’ chest clenches at the sight.

Remus sets the clothes and towel on the closed lid of the toilet and steps over to Sirius. The skin beneath his eyes is thin and purple, and his brows are furrowed even in sleep. The only sign of life is the slight ripple of the water beneath his nose as he breathes out.

Remus kneels next to him, trying his hardest to push down all the memories fighting to rise to the surface. All the times  _ he _ had fallen asleep in baths, after full moons, only to wake up to Sirius wringing out blood soaked washcloths and stroking his hair.

Remus touches Sirius’ tattooed shoulder.

“Sirius, wake up.”

Sirius’ eyes fly open and he jumps away from Remus. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub, all over Remus’ trousers.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Remus says, hoping he sounds placating and not annoyed. “It’s just me. Remus.”

The wildness in Sirius’ eyes calms somewhat as he looks up at Remus for the first time since entering his flat. His chest is heaving with harsh breaths and his hands are trembling.

“Sorry,” he whispers, gaze flicking back to the disrupted bathwater.

“It’s okay,” Remus says again. “Do you...do you need help?”

He glances at Sirius’ tangled mass of hair. Most of what’s below his shoulders seems to have matted into one large dreadlock.

Sirius shrugs his one shoulder shrug. “Just cut it off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you want to spend hours combing it out?”

His tone is flat, voice hoarse. He is quite adamantly not looking at Remus. Remus resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead breathing out sharply through his nose and gingerly picking up Sirius’ lump of hair.

He casts a carefully controlled  _ Diffindo _ and begins cutting. Sirius is silent. Remus is burning with a desire to know why he’s here, why Dumbledore of all people dropped him off. Something big has obviously happened — maybe Sirius was almost caught? And he needs a place to hide? But then why come to Remus, a known acquaintance of his, surely it would be one of the first places they’d come looking?

Even in Remus’ mind, he winces at his own use of the word  _ acquaintance _ . 

“Done.”

The nest of hair comes away from Sirius’ head, and Remus Vanishes it immediately. He’d rather not think about what was tangled up in there. Sirius reaches a bony hand up and runs it over his head, through the badly uneven hair that’s left.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Can I trust you not to fall asleep again?” Remus asks curtly. “Or do you need me to shampoo you as well?”

He may have imagined it, but he could have sworn a smile flickers at the corners of Sirius’ lips.

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius says, picking up the bottle of shampoo.

Remus closes the door slowly, and his knees nearly give out beneath him. 

Seeing Sirius in the Shack was one thing. He’d been manic, wild, vicious. Having him here, now, so obviously frail and tired, all bones and blue-purple veins...it’s almost too much. His wrists are so thin Remus is sure he could circle them with just his thumb and pinky finger.

“Get it together, Lupin,” he mumbles, and makes his way to the kitchen.

By the time Sirius finishes in the bathroom, Remus has managed to prepare a full fry-up. He’s sliding eggs onto two plates and doesn’t notice when Sirius, almost completely silently, enters the room.

“Smells good.”

Remus jumps and nearly tips the eggs onto the floor. He rights the plates and sets them on the table, looking up at Sirius.

His newly shorn hair falls to his shoulders, dripping onto the jumper Remus has given him. The front is far longer than the back, and Remus wonders if Sirius cares enough to let him try to even it out later. Sirius has shaved his ragged beard and the combination of a clean face, clean clothes, and untangled hair makes him look much younger. Almost healthier, if not for the pinched, starved look of his face and the way the clothes hang off his skeletal frame.

Remus sets out the rest of the food on his small table and motions for Sirius to sit. He does, picking up his fork and staring at it for a moment as though he’s not quite sure what to do with it.

“Thanks,” he says, holding the fork awkwardly in his left hand and stabbing at a sausage.

Sirius eats as though he hasn’t in months. A twist of Remus’ gut reminds him that probably, he hasn’t. Remus pokes listlessly at his own food, stomach far too tied up in knots in anticipation of what Sirius has to tell him to bother eating much.

When Sirius is done, his fingers are red with sauce and he licks them loudly before scraping every last morsel off his plate. It’s so unlike the Sirius that Remus remembers, the Sirius who was brought up with elocution lessons and who always lay a napkin in his lap before each meal. Anxiety and confusion roil in Remus and he sets down his fork, reaching for a pack of cigarettes that lies on the chipped windowsill next to him.

“So?” he asks once Sirius has finished chasing crumbs with his fingers. Smoke curls between them, climbing lazily to the ceiling.

Sirius looks up at him. The look in his grey eyes make Remus’ hair stand on end.

“He’s back. Voldemort’s back.”

\---

That night, Remus can’t sleep.

It’s no surprise, really. His ex-lover comes barreling back into his life after thirteen years, declares the Dark Lord is back, that a war is coming, and then promptly curls up in dog form on the sofa and falls asleep.

The waxing moon shines brightly through his window, and the feeling of it hums in his veins. It does nothing to settle his mind.

Sirius had said Dumbledore is reinstating the Order of the Phoenix. That he’s offered up his old family home as headquarters. He said that Harry...Harry had seen Voldemort return, witnessed his friend’s murder…

Remus blinks rapidly against the tears welling in his eyes. The threat of another war sends him tumbling back in time fifteen years. The uncertainty of whether or not you’d survive the day, the distrust, even amongst the closest of friends. Remus remembers those last couple of months before…he and Sirius were barely talking to each other. Both so completely wrapped up in their own missions and paranoia that even the one person they swore they could trust became suspect.

A low growl from the living room snaps Remus out of his miserable memories. He sits up, listening intently.

Another growl, followed by a high pitched whine.

He jumps out of bed, wand in hand, and sees Sirius — or Padfoot, really — shifting restlessly on the sofa, snout curled in a snarl. Remus approaches cautiously. Dealing with a confused Sirius in a bathtub is one thing; Padfoot in the throes of a nightmare is slightly more dangerous.

“ _ Lumos _ ,” he says, hoping the light will be enough to wake Padfoot.

No such luck. The dog yelps as though hit, his legs running wildly through the air.

“Sirius!” Remus says, loudly. “Wake up!”

With a whine that cuts through Remus’ heart, Padfoot’s eyes open. His teeth are bared, ears flat to his head. His crazed eyes meet Remus’, drop to Remus’ raised wand, and another growl rises in his throat. Remus sets his wand slowly on the table, keeping his hands in the air.

“It’s Remus,” he says. “It’s just me.”

Recognition dawns in his eyes, pushing through the cloud of the nightmare. A second later Sirius sits on the couch, shoulders trembling and eyes wide.

“It’s just me,” Remus repeats, feeling utterly useless. He turns to fetch Sirius a glass of water from the kitchen, but Sirius’ hand shoots out and grabs his sleeve.

“Don’t,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Stay? Please.”

Remus nods. A lump has formed in his throat and he’s not quite sure he can manage words. He sits next to Sirius and can  _ smell _ the anxiety radiating from him. His whole body is shaking, teeth rattling. Remus tentatively reaches out a hand, and Sirius grabs it so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Remus doesn't know how long they sit there, not speaking, hand in hand. By the time he hears Sirius' breath even out with sleep, birds are chirping outside and a dim light filters through the curtains. 

The next night, Remus pulls the cushions from the sofa, and Padfoot curls up at the end of his bed. 

\---

It's a week before anyone contacts them. 

They've fallen into a comfortable, if mostly silent, routine. Remus is between jobs, and spends his mornings circling potential ads in the daily paper. His last job, as a bag boy at the local grocer's, ended when he’d made the mistake of rolling up his sleeves on a particularly hot day. A customer spotted his scarred arms and complained that he was scaring her child. 

Sirius passes most of the day napping fitfully as Padfoot. He has a voracious appetite, which Remus is all too happy to see. Remus tries not to think of the dwindling number in his bank account, and insists on buying healthy, whole meals to get Sirius back to a reasonable weight.

He feels Sirius staring at him, sometimes. The weight of his gaze is like an itch he cannot scratch. But every time he looks up, Sirius' haunted eyes are fixed on the window. 

Remus knows that probably, they should be talking more. About what happened, about what's happening  _ now.  _ But Sirius' nightmares, his panic at being left alone even for a minute, the way he licks every last crumb off his plate at mealtimes…all these things serve as reminders to Remus that he doesn't know this man, not really. This isn't the Sirius he fell in love with all those years ago. And so it becomes easier and easier to compartmentalise the emotions. Everything that happened, back then, happened to a different Remus. A different Sirius. And this Remus is quite determined to keep those memories under lock and key. 

It's late afternoon when Arthur Weasley's Patronus comes swooping in through the open kitchen window.

Remus has just sat down for a cuppa, lit cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. Sirius sits opposite him, already halfway done with his tea. 

The silvery weasel looks up at them before speaking in Arthur's voice. 

"Tomorrow morning, seven o'clock. I'll collect you on the corner by the tellyphone booth."

With a faint  _ whoosh _ , the weasel soars back through the window.

Sirius, for once, breaks the silence. 

"I guess that's it, then." 

Remus exhales a plume of smoke and stares into his milky tea. 

\---

Sirius' dreams that night are the worst they've been yet. 

He's transformed back while still sleeping, and the contorted look of terror on his face is worse than any whine Padfoot’s emitted. 

"No… _ nooo _ …"

Remus leans over him, gripping his shoulder. His shirt is soaked through with sweat.

"Sirius!" 

"Please, no,  _ stop!"  _ Sirius cries. He trashes in terror, hand smacking Remus across the face.

“SIRIUS!” Remus bellows. His fingers are digging into Sirius’ arm hard enough to bruise.

Sirius’ eyes snap open. He’s gasping for air, chest heaving. His hair is plastered to his forehead and sweat trickles down his temples.

“It’s alright,” Remus says, and the words feel hollow. “It was just a dream.”

“Remus, she was, I,” Sirius mumbles incoherently, eyes darting around the room as though expecting someone to pop out from behind the bed and attack them.

“There’s no one here, Sirius.”

Sirius draws in a shaky breath. His hands are clutching the front of Remus’ shirt; Remus’ hip is starting to twinge from the awkward crouching position he’s in. He doesn’t dare move.

“It’s,” Sirius says.

“Okay,” Remus finishes. “It’s all okay.”

Slowly, Sirius releases his grip on Remus. His eyes stop their frantic searching, instead coming to focus dully on the wall opposite him. A look of detachment Remus has come to recognise clouds over Sirius’ face. Remus leans back slightly, suddenly feeling the sting of Sirius’ slap on his cheek.

“Are you...do you need anything? Water? Tea?”

Sirius doesn’t look at him.

“I’m fine, thanks. Go back to sleep, Moony. Sorry for waking you.”

A surprised shiver runs through Remus at the name. He hasn’t been called that since…since before. He blinks to dispel the prickling that’s building in his eyes and stands up.

“I’m here if you need me,” he says softly. “Padfoot.”

\---

Remus is sweating in his long-sleeved shirt. It’s leading up to be an unreasonably hot summer, and he doesn’t own anything with short sleeves that aren’t pajamas. He tugs irritably at his collar.

Padfoot circles him happily, chasing pigeons and sniffing lampposts. Remus smiles at the sight; the deadened look in Sirius’ eyes from last night is burned into his retinas. It’s nice to see him actually enjoying himself.

“Morning,” a voice says from behind him. Remus turns to see Arthur Weasley, dressed in a trenchcoat and purple Wellingtons, smiling pleasantly at him.

“Good morning.”

Arthur nods in greeting at Padfoot, who comes to stand next to Remus, looking up at him expectantly, tail wagging.

“All ready?” Arthur asks. He leans down to ruffle Padfoot’s fur affectionately. Padfoot lets out a happy  _ boof _ .

“Ready," Remus says. 

Arthur leads them to a small alley that passes behind the grocer’s Remus was so recently fired from. He casts a quick  _ Notice-Me-Not _ at the alley entrance and pulls a small porcelain cat statue from his coat pocket.

“Right, gather round,” Arthur says, glancing at his watch. “Only a couple minutes left.”

He bends down so Padfoot can better access the Portkey, and they wait. Remus can only imagine how odd a sight the three of them must make. Two middle-aged men — one dressed in purple Wellies — and a mangy dog all hovered around a small cat figurine.

A jerking sensation behind his navel pulls sharply. A few seconds of uncomfortable squeezing later and he’s stumbling slightly onto a busy London street.

Padfoot barks, shaking out his fur as though from water. Arthur places the Portkey back into his pocket, and pulls out a small slip of parchment. He hands it to Remus.

_ 12 Grimmauld Place _

Remus feels a tightening in his chest that has nothing to do with the recent Portkey travel. He holds the parchment in front of Padfoot’s eyes. The dog whimpers softly.

The house slides into existence before them with a shimmer like a heatwave mirage.

“Most of the Order should be arriving today,” Arthur says, stepping up the front steps towards the ornate wooden door. “Not all of them will be staying here, of course, but Dumbledore wants to hold the first official meeting tonight.”

Remus nods but says nothing. He glances at Padfoot. His tail is tucked between his legs. Remus scratches him behind the ears and large grey eyes look up at him gratefully.

As they enter the house, Remus is struck by a damp, musty scent that makes him sneeze. It’s dark in the entranceway, with no lamps lit and no windows to let in sunlight. Sirius rises up beside him, and even in the dimness Remus can make out the look of disgust on his face.

“Bit of a fixer upper,” Arthur says cheerfully. “But it’ll do for our purposes. Molly’s made real headway in the kitchen.”

They make their way to a large sitting room which seems to be occupied by most of the Weasley family. Remus tries to not focus too much on the decapitated house-elf heads mounted on the walls.

“Professor Lupin!” Ginny leaps off the sofa to come greet him, closely followed by Ron and the twins.

“I’m hardly anyone’s professor these days,” Remus says, smiling. He feels Sirius’ arm pressing against his and gives his wrist a surreptitious squeeze.

“I don’t believe you’ve all met Sirius yet, have you?”

“Not in person,” says one of the twins; Remus thinks it’s Fred. They’re looking slightly awestruck as they lean in to shake Sirius’ hand.

“Sorry about the leg,” Sirius says to Ron, who grins awkwardly. Sirius glances around the room. “Is Harry here?”

“Not, er, not yet,” Arthur says from behind them. “It’s a rather...delicate situation.”

“What’s delicate about it?” Sirius says bluntly. “He belongs here with the rest of us.”

Arthur’s gaze flicks over to his children, all of whom are watching intently.

“I believe Dumbledore will address it this evening,” he says quietly.

Sirius grunts in response, making no effort to mask the disdain on his face.

“Sirius,” Remus says, hoping to distract him. “Shall we put away your things? Where’s your room?”

Sirius’ ‘things’ are all completely Remus’. Remus had packed him a small bag of clothes and toiletries, certain he wouldn’t be coming back to Remus’ flat and unsure how well equipped a house that has stood empty for a decade would be.

“Upstairs,” Sirius says. “I’ll take it.”

He grabs the bag off Remus’ shoulder and marches off up the creaking wooden staircase. A terse silence follows his departure. The children are all watching Remus and Arthur shrewdly. Remus clears his throat loudly.

“Does Molly need any help in the kitchen?”

“Yes!” Arthur seems glad to leave the suspecting eyes of his children. He leads Remus down another staircase, and the heady aroma of roasted meat rises up to meet them.

“Tonks has been helping her but, poor soul, she seems to do rather more harm than good,” Arthur muses.

“Tonks…” Remus blinks. “Nymphadora? Sirius’ cousin?”

“The very same.”

It’s quite odd to think of the purple haired toddler he’d met some twenty years ago as a full grown woman. Remus vainly attempts to quell the rising thought of  _ fuck I’m old _ as they enter the kitchen.

Molly Weasley is bent over a large pot on the stove, waving her wand like an orchestra conductor. All around her vegetables are being peeled and chopped, dishes scrubbing themselves in the sink, and a kettle is slowly rising to a boil on the hob. 

A young woman Remus assumes is Nymphadora is sitting at a large wooden table, carefully folding napkins. Her hair is a short, vivid pink and she's wearing a cropped t-shirt with large glittering lips embroidered across the front. She looks up as they enter and smiles widely.

"Hiya!" she greets, rising to her feet and nearly toppling her chair behind her. She reaches out a hand and Remus shakes it, smiling back at her politely. 

"I've heard a lot about you, Professor," she says, winking. 

Remus immediately feels a flush heat his cheeks. 

"Please, just Remus. I assume you're Nymphadora?" 

"Ugh," Tonks makes a rather alarming gagging noise. "Tonks, if you don't mind. And even if you do." 

"Hello Remus, dear," Molly says, sounding slightly flustered. "Lovely to see you again." 

"And you, Molly," Remus says. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh you're sweet," Molly smiles warmly at him. "Help yourself to some tea, the kettle's just gone. You can shell the peas while you do." 

Remus pours tea for everyone, despite Molly's blustering, and settles down in front of a massive bowl of peas. 

"Am I to understand that this means my wayward cousin has arrived as well?" Tonks asks. 

"Indeed he has," Arthur responds, reaching out to help Remus with the peas. 

Remus thinks of Sirius, just upstairs, entering his childhood bedroom for the first time in twenty years. Entering a house where he knew nothing but pain and abuse. A twinge of guilt twists in his stomach. It grows stronger yet when he thinks  _ just a few minutes. Just a little bit of a break.  _

His fingers itch for a cigarette. 

"So what do you do, Tonks?" he asks, hoping to distract himself from the image of Sirius curled in on himself, shaking.

"Auror," she says simply. 

"Really?" Remus is impressed. "You're quite young." 

"Old enough," she winks at him again. He smiles down at his pile of peas. 

"Am I late for the family reunion?"

Sirius is leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. He's smiling genuinely; Remus hasn't seen this smile yet, not on this Sirius, and the way it makes his cheek dimple sends Remus' heart stuttering. 

"Cousin!" Tonks gets to her feet, this time managing to upend her chair.

They hug, laughing, and Remus can't help but compare it to his own reunion with Sirius. Awkward silence and little to no eye contact.

"Molly, everything smells delicious," Sirius says, leaning over the pot on the stove to inhale deeply.

Molly smiles, though she seems a little wary, and pours him some tea as well. Sirius thanks her and sits opposite Remus, who is staring resolutely at the steam rising from his own mug. 

"I've got you the room next to mine, Moony," Sirius says, foot nudging Remus' below the table. 

"Oh," Remus says, surprised. "I, er, I'm not sure I'll be staying."

Sirius frowns. Tonks is glancing between the two of them with barely concealed interest. 

"Why?" Sirius asks. 

"Well, I  _ have  _ got my own flat," Remus says, irritated. 

"Yeah, but," Sirius seems genuinely confused, "everyone's here. Tonks is staying, right?" 

Tonks looks rather alarmed at being addressed. 

"Er, no. Only I've got work early in the mornings…" She bites her lip at the obvious dismay on Sirius' face. "I'll be in and out, though. What with all the meetings and missions and whatnot. I've actually got no clue," she chuckles slightly, "but that's what you lot did last time, isn't it?"

Sirius says nothing; Remus sees his jaw clench and his nostrils flare.

“It would be lovely to have you, Remus,” Molly says, gathering the empty mugs with a swish of her wand and sending them to the sink. "Although, Sirius, I was thinking of giving the room next to yours to Bill and Fleur, when they arrive.”

“We’ll see what Dumbledore says, tonight,” Arthur says quickly, smiling at Remus. 

A loud, shrill ringing sounds from upstairs, cutting off Sirius’ response. Almost immediately after, a blood curdling shriek rends the air.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Molly sighs. Neither she nor Arthur seem particularly concerned about the screaming; even Tonks goes back to meticulously folding her napkins.

“I’ll go get it,” Arthur says, rising from his chair.

“ _ Filth!” _ the voice screams from above. “ _ Mudbloods! Blood traitors! Defiling the home of my ancestors! _ ”

Remus glances up at Sirius to see he’s gone ghostly white, eyes wide and frightened. He jumps to his feet and thunders up the stairs before Remus can ask what’s wrong. Without thinking twice, Remus runs after him.

A portrait of an elderly woman is the source of the screaming. Her eyes bulge grotesquely the moment Sirius enters the room and she points a knobbly finger at him.

“ _ YOU!” _ She looks positively murderous. “ _ YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF FILTH, DIRT BENEATH MY BOOTS, NOT FIT TO CARRY THE NAME OF BLACK!” _

Arthur is struggling to pull a heavy black curtain back over the portrait. Remus leaps forward to help him.

“ _ Bringing scum into my house! Abominations! Half breeds and dark creatures! Monsters! _ ”

Sweat beads on Remus’ forehead. With an almighty tug he wrenches the curtain shut, abruptly cutting off Walburga Black’s screaming portrait.

Arthur runs to answer the door, and Remus turns to see Sirius’ heel disappearing up the stairs.

“Sirius!”

Remus climbs the stairs after him, hip protesting with every step. As he reaches the landing, he sees a door on the far end of the corridor slam shut. Panting slightly, Remus strides down the corridor and opens the door without knocking.

Sirius is kneeling on the floor, head clutched in his hands, fingers tearing at his hair. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels, shaking his head violently. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open in a silent howl. 

Remus drops down next to him and grabs his shoulders to stop his rocking. 

“Sirius, hey,” Remus says softly. “She’s not here, it’s just a portrait. It’s not real.”

An anguished sob wrenches itself from Sirius’ chest and Remus aches at the sound. He pulls Sirius to him; Sirius buries his face in Remus’ shoulder, his whole body shivering uncontrollably as he cries out yet again.

Remus rubs circles on his back, feeling every knob of his spine, every valley between his ribs. He strokes Sirius’ hair, the one part of him that’s almost as he remembers. He sits with Sirius pulled tight against him as the other man cries heart-rending sobs that break him into a million tiny pieces. He holds him until Sirius has no tears left, until he’s limp and hiccoughing into Remus’ shoulder, and even then, he doesn’t let go.

“I can’t,” Sirius whispers, broken voice muffled against Remus’ shirt. “I can’t be here.”

Remus feels a tear slide down his nose. He tightens his grip on Sirius.

“I’m here with you,” he says hoarsely. “I’m not going anywhere.”

\---

After the Order meeting, Snape corners Remus. He shoves a small wooden box into Remus' hands, lip curling. 

"Dumbledore requested I brew this for you," he says shortly.

Remus doesn't need to ask what it is.

"Why?" he asks instinctively, but he already knows. 

Snape's gaze flickers past Remus' shoulder and his smirk widens. 

"I imagine the dog needs looking after."

He turns on his heel and sweeps away. Remus senses Sirius behind him before he even speaks. 

"What did Snivellus want?" he all but growls. 

Remus glances at the box in his hands. It's heavy for its size, which feels oddly appropriate given its contents. 

Over his year teaching at Hogwarts, Remus grew to hate the Wolfsbane potion. On a natural full moon, his human consciousness fades away halfway through his transition, and he wakes up the following morning, human once more. With the Wolfsbane, he retains his awareness throughout it all. The cracking and rearranging of bones, the tearing of his skin as fur sprouts through, the ripping of his claws as they grow from his fingers. 

As if all of that wasn't enough, the potion makes him far more ill than he would normally be preceding the full moon. It makes sense, considering he's essentially ingesting poison for three days in a row. He spends those three days nauseated and sweating feverishly, in addition to the usual fatigue.

His stomach clenches painfully as the realisation of what this all means falls on him like a ten tonne weight.. Dumbledore is essentially telling him that he’s to stay here with Sirius  _ at all times _ , full moon notwithstanding. 

“Remus?” Sirius plucks at his sleeve. Remus jerks away instinctively. Surprise and hurt flash in Sirius’ eyes and he drops his hand.

_ I imagine the dog needs looking after. _

“Sorry,” Remus says quickly. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“It’s fine,” Remus says through gritted teeth.

Sirius’ eyes narrow and flick down to the small wooden box in Remus’ hands.

“What’s that, then?” He reaches out as if to snatch it away; Remus shifts to hold it behind his back.

“Can you please drop it, Sirius?”

A few other Order members are lingering around them, watching curiously. Remus feels a flush rise in his neck when he catches Tonks’ eye. She raises a pink eyebrow at him, smirking.

“Why won’t you tell me what Snivellus gave you?” Sirius demands. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, that his raised voice is attracting attention.

“Fuck’s sake, Sirius,” Remus hisses under his breath.

Remus doesn’t need this right now. He doesn’t need to explain himself to Sirius in a room full of veritable strangers. He doesn’t need to explain how fucking  _ frustrating _ it is to essentially have all his autonomy taken from him in the space of a week. He doesn’t want to have to put into words to a thoroughly damaged Sirius that Dumbledore wants Remus to be his babysitter.

So instead of saying anything, he tugs his arm out of Sirius’ grasp, turns around, and stalks up the stairs.

He climbs and climbs, until the bustling murmur of the Order members recedes and then disappears. He climbs until his hip is throbbing, and he’s sure he should have reached the top floor already.

He’s stopped by an ancient looking door. Its black paint is faded grey and peeling, and an impressive spiderweb spreads across the top right corner. Remus tests the rusted knob — it turns with surprisingly little resistance.

A small voice tells him that maybe it’s not the best idea to open unused and unknown doors in a house that belonged to Dark wizards, but he shoves the voice aside and pushes open the door.

He steps through, breathing deeply as a burst of fresh air hits him. He appears to be on some sort of rooftop terrace. It’s horribly overgrown, with gnarled and withered plants he doesn’t recognise crawling over the entire roof.

His every step crunches as dry leaves crackle and break beneath him. The night air is still warm but the day’s humidity has broken and there’s a pleasant breeze ruffling his hair.

Remus reaches the edge of the roof, cordoned off with an intricately twisted metal fence. He leans forward and looks down into the busy London street below. A bright red bus is laying impatiently on its horn as the taxi cab in front of it takes on a new passenger. The sight and sound of it is so familiar from his own flat that his chest twinges as he remembers he’s not going back there. He’s here for the foreseeable future. In the childhood home where Sirius was systematically abused and tortured. The home he hasn’t been in since he reached a breaking point twenty years ago and ran away.

Fuck.

Remus lights a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. This close to the full moon he doesn’t usually need his wand for such simple spells. Sirius had always been jealous of his ability to do that, claiming it was far “too cool” a move to be “wasted” on Remus.

He smiles at the memory, exhaling a long stream of smoke. Guilt churns his stomach as he thinks of the Sirius of his youth; easy smile, eyes bright and laughing.

_ Fuck. _

By the time the door swings open behind him, he’s finishing his third cigarette. It’s helped calmed his nerves significantly, but his anxiety spikes when he realises it’s Sirius behind him.

Shuffling footsteps crunch closer to Remus. He sighs, stubbing out his cigarette and turning to face Sirius.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and is surprised to realise he means it.

The corner of Sirius’ mouth quirks in the faintest of smiles. He looks extraordinarily tired, as though merely keeping himself upright is costing him more energy than he has to spare.

“I’m sorry, too,” Sirius says quietly.

He steps past Remus to the wrought iron fence, looking out silently over the city. A week of square meals at Remus’ flat has helped fill out the hollowness of his cheeks, softened the sharp jut of his cheek and collar bones. His grey eyes are a bright silver in the light of the near-full moon.

He’s beautiful.

“It’s Wolfsbane,” Remus says into the silence. A tingling he attributes to anxiety shoots through his chest. “What Snape gave me.”

“Oh,” Sirius says. He doesn’t move to look at Remus. “Is that bad?”

Remus shrugs, arm brushing Sirius’. “It makes me ill.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says again.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Remus says. He turns to face the city as well. His heart thuds hard against his ribcage. “I’m just…”  _ Overwhelmed _ , he wants to say. It doesn’t feel fair, somehow, to say that to Sirius.

“I’ve talked to Molly,” Sirius says abruptly. His hands are clenched into fists. “She’s gotten our room ready. I just wanted to let you know. So you can come down.”

The pounding of Remus’ heart now fills his ears.

“Our... _ our _ room?”

A noncommittal shrug. Sirius’ face is almost expressionless, save for a slight furrow in his brows.

“Everywhere’s full,” he says simply. “Unless you want to bunk with one of the Weasley kids. Or Buckbeak.” Despite his words, there’s no amusement in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says, feeling like a broken record. “If I’ve upset you — ”

“You haven’t upset me.”

“You look — ”

Sirius turns to him and Remus’ voice catches in his throat. Sirius’ eyes are flat, his jaw set.

“I thought I didn’t have to pretend with you, Moony.” 

Remus feels the words like a stab to the chest. Sirius has already turned away from him again. The glow from the city below highlights the heavy bags beneath his eyes. Silence stretches between them, thick and palpable.

“It’s nice up here,” Remus tries.

Sirius’s face twists as though Remus has punched him. He closes his eyes, lashes casting sharp shadows across his cheekbones.

“This was Reg’s place,” he says, so quietly Remus almost misses it. “He kept up the garden. Guess it’s been empty for...however long it’s been.”

Remus feels like a colossal idiot. 

“I’m sor — ”

“Stop saying that.” Sirius glares at Remus, anger hot in his voice. “You didn’t know.” And then, just as quickly as the anger had flared up, his face crumples into a sort of awful desperation that Remus can’t remember ever having seen there before.

“You didn’t choose any of this. I know that. I know you didn’t — you wouldn’t — you had a life, and — then I just — ”

He jerks away from Remus’ attempts to grab him by the shoulders.

“Sirius, that’s not — ”

“Shut up!” Sirius’ eyes are wide and wild, all of the apathy from mere minutes ago vanished like a candle snuffed out. “Shut  _ up! _ I know what you think of me, I know you don’t want to be here, I know you fucking  _ pity _ me, feel  _ sorry _ for me. I know you’d rather be back at your flat, I know, Remus, I  _ know!” _

His breath catches in a hysterical sob. He’s white as a sheet, shaking violently, and his thin hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard.

“You think I don’t see myself? You think I’m not disgusted by myself too, Remus? You don’t have to pretend! Not for my sake!”

Sirius’ voice is thin like a thread about to snap. Remus’ pulse is thundering in his body and the tips of his fingers tingle with faint prickles of numbness. He can hardly process what Sirius is saying. Sirius looks quite mad, eyes bulging and tears streaming down his face, fingers clawing at his hair and cheeks.

“I’m fucking  _ sorry _ we’re all stuck here in this  _ hellhole _ , Remus! I’m sorry I ruined your  _ perfect _ life by showing up again, I’m  _ sorry _ —”

“ _ Silencio! _ ”

Sirius’ mouth keeps moving for a few seconds before he realises he’s been silenced. When he does, he takes in a great, shuddering breath and drops to his knees. He sits, curled over into the dead plants his brother cared for all those decades ago, tears dripping from his nose.

Remus feels paralysed, rooted to the spot. He’s reeling at how quickly it all unravelled, trying to pinpoint exactly what he’d said that sent Sirius spiralling. Is this what it’s going to be like? Is he going to have to walk on eggshells at every moment, censor his every word for fear of setting Sirius off?

He falls heavily to his knees, ignoring the pain jarring in his hip.

“ _ Finite _ ,” he whispers. The sound of Sirius’ heavy, rasping breaths tear at his heart.

Remus pulls two cigarettes from the crumpled pack in his back pocket, lighting them with two firm snaps. He holds one out for Sirius, waiting until the grey eyes slide into focus, locking on to the lit fag end. Sirius reaches up with trembling fingers and takes it.

“I think,” Remus says, “that we need to accept that neither of us know what the fuck we’re doing.”

Sirius is silent, staring at his cigarette as though it might hold all the answers.

“You’re sorry,” Remus continues, “I’m sorry, we’re both fucking sorry. Okay?”

Sirius watches the ash break and crumble to the floor, releasing a fresh plume of smoke.

“We have to take it one day at a time,” Remus says, and takes a deep inhale of burning smoke. “One day at a time.” He’s aware he’s rambling. He’s more vaguely aware that his hands are shaking.

“We’ll — it’s fine. It’ll be fine. We’re fine.” 

Remus doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince. All he knows is that it’s not working.

\---

Sharing Sirius’ room isn’t ideal, but it’s not too different from their arrangement at Remus’ flat. Sirius insists Remus use his king sized four poster bed, while he takes the small cot Molly has set up against the far wall. Really the biggest difference is all the posters of bikini clad women staring at them from the walls.

That first night, Sirius doesn’t have any nightmares. Remus sleeps straight through until morning, something he hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed.

The second night, Remus wakes up to use the loo in the middle of the night and notices Sirius lying awake in his cot, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Remus wonders about the previous night; whether Sirius hadn’t dreamed, or just hadn’t slept.

On the morning of the full moon, the Wolfsbane potion is in full effect and Remus can hardly move for nausea. He sits at the kitchen table, hunched over his cup of weak milky tea, feeling every ache in every muscle and bone in his body. Sirius sits opposite him, bags under his eyes dark and pronounced.

“Good morning, boys!” a chirpy voice greets them. 

Remus grimaces. Sirius grunts.

Tonks laughs at their general air of disgust and pours herself a cup of coffee.

“I’m getting a mission today!” She announces cheerfully.

Remus forces down a long swig of tea and looks up at her, squinting against the blinding glare of the kitchen lights. Her hair is a bright canary yellow today.

“Anything interesting?”

“No idea,” she grins, setting a bowl of porridge down and folding herself onto the chair next to Remus. The sight of the porridge sends Remus’ stomach roiling and he groans softly. “Something about guard duty? Guess I’ll find out soon!”

“Guarding Harry?” Sirius croaks, sitting up a little straighter in his seat.

Sirius had very nearly hexed Dumbledore during the meeting, when Dumbledore had mentioned that Harry would be staying with his aunt and uncle for the summer. He'd definitely yelled vehemently, saying that Harry belongs here with them and not with "those horrible Muggles". He even pulled out the godfather card when Dumbledore insisted Harry needs to stay with "family". 

In the end, Dumbledore had put his foot down and moved on to the next topic. As Remus knows all too well, what Dumbledore wants, Dumbledore gets. 

Tonks shrugs. “Maybe. Want me to send a message?”

Remus frowns. “You know we can’t — ”

“Only joking!” She bumps his shoulder with hers, laughing. “You boys look like someone stole your Pygmy Puff. And then ate it in front of you.”

Remus pushes his unfinished tea away. The smell from Tonks’ porridge has put him off completely.

“Full moon tonight,” he says simply. “Not feeling my best.”

“Oh, right,” Tonks nods. For some reason, Remus is relieved to note that there’s no sympathy in her tone. 

“How about you, then?” she says to Sirius through a mouthful of porridge.

“What?” he says flatly. “Am I not exuding my usual  _ joie de vivre _ ?”

Her laughter fills the room. Remus finds himself smiling despite the churning in his gut. Even Sirius’ lips twitch upwards.

“Tell you what’ll cheer you up,” Tonks says, gesturing with her spoon. “New clothes! No offense mate, but that jumper has seen better days.”

“That’s  _ my _ jumper,” Remus says, affronted.

“Right,” says Tonks, “but on  _ you _ it’s got that sexy old Professor feel. Sirius just looks homeless. Look, the sleeves are too short.”

Remus is quite sure his face has gone the colour of a beetroot. He glances up to see that Sirius has the audacity to  _ smirk _ at him.

“Moony was  _ definitely _ the sexy Professor,” he says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. The sleeves really are too short; his thin, tattooed wrists are poking out from frayed cuffs.

“Sorry,  _ old? _ ” Remus turns to Tonks, choosing to ignore the all too familiar glint in Sirius’ eyes.

Tonks grins at him over the edge of her coffee mug. “Nothing wrong with being a silver fox. Or wolf, as it were.”

Remus’ insides are shriveling and any second now he’ll collapse in on himself like a dying star.

“C’mon,” Tonks says to Sirius. “Remus and I will go on a little shopping trip and pick you up something that actually fits you.”

Sirius’ face twists slightly at the reminder that, of course, he has to stay inside at all times. He raises his shoulder in a short shrug.

“Do what you want. I like Remus’ jumpers.” He plucks at a stray thread.

“Great!” Tonks beams. “After the full moon then?”

This is directed at Remus, who finds himself quite speechless when faced with the full force of her undying enthusiasm.

“Perfect!” she exclaims when he doesn’t respond. “I’ll pop by tomorrow after my mission.”

She stands up, chair scraping on the wooden floor. She levitates her used dishes to the sink and waves at them both with a cheery, “ta, lads!” before thundering up the stairs.

Sirius blinks at Remus. Remus raises an eyebrow.

“So, how do you feel about tartan trousers?”

\---

Remus locks himself in the basement half an hour before moonrise. He’s asked every available Order member to check and double check the wards he’s set up. He can’t quite bring himself to completely trust the Wolfsbane. He’s in a house full of people, on an empty stomach; it growls loudly as though just to prove his point.

He’s just started stripping and setting his clothes aside in a neat pile when a knock at the door surprises him.

“Moony?”

“Sirius?” 

He hesitates, then cracks open the door. Sirius’ face shimmers behind the layer of warding spells. He’s biting his lip nervously. 

"I just," Sirius looks uneasy. "Can I? Come in?" 

A confusing jumble of emotions rise in Remus at his words. He thinks back on the last full moon they spent together, however many years ago. Before Remus joined the werewolves as part of his mission for the Order. Before the distrust. Before. 

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Remus says carefully. 

"Why not? I'll be transformed, it won't matter." 

"Sirius…It's dangerous." 

It isn't, not really. Not with the Wolfsbane sitting heavy in his veins and muffling his every base instinct.

He moves to shut the door. 

"Remus." The desperation in Sirius' quiet voice sends goosebumps popping up on Remus' arms. 

"I can't," Sirius says to the floor. "I can't be alone."

Remus is powerless against that voice. He always has been. 

"Fuck," he curses under his breath. "Just a minute."

He closes the door and pulls out his wand to allow Sirius to pass through the wards. He can already feel pain curling in his abdomen and sweat beading on his brow. 

Sirius slips into the room. He smiles at Remus; an anxious smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

"Thanks," he says.

The room feels far too small for the both of them. Sirius is standing so close behind him Remus can feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. Remus' whole body is feverishly hot. He swallows thickly and turns to face Sirius.

Sirius is staring down at him so intensely that Remus' pulse immediately goes into overdrive. Sirius has tanned from long afternoons spent up on the rooftop garden, and the contrast of the light grey of his eyes is striking. Remus feels fifteen again, heart pounding out of control as he battles against his hopeless crush. 

A stabbing pain in his hip reminds him why they're there.

"I need to," he says, voice breaking like he really  _ is  _ fifteen. 

"Right," Sirius says, taking a step back. Breath returns to Remus' lungs in a sharp gasp. 

Sirius turns to face the wall, giving Remus privacy as he finishes undressing. It's a bit absurd, Remus thinks, given how many times they've seen each other naked. His face is a thousand degrees and he very firmly pushes all thoughts of nakedness down into the dark recesses of his mind under lock and key.

The pain is well and truly present now, spreading along his limbs and throbbing in his head and chest. 

"Soon," he says to Sirius, who immediately sinks to the floor on all fours, tail wagging gently. 

It starts with the abrupt cracking of his spine. He screams and falls heavily against the wall. Each vertebrae is breaking apart and reconnecting and the pain is all consuming. His jaw is next to snap, lengthening to a snout while his teeth sharpen and blood pours from his mouth. His throat tears with his screams, reforming so they come out as miserable, pained howls.

When it's over, he lies whimpering on the floor. 

The dog pads over to him, and the scent of him is so familiar, so comforting, that the wolf whines long and low. The dog nudges him with his wet nose, then licks his cheek. 

The wolf shifts, body aching and so, so tired. The dog lies next to him, warm body curled against his, head resting on the wolf's paws. A sense of calm falls over the wolf. 

Together, they sleep.

\---

"Sorry, do you have this in a small?" 

The store attendant’s gaze scans Remus from head to toe.

“It’s not for me,” Remus says hastily. “Though I don’t think he’s a small, Tonks.”

“Are you sure?” Tonks’ nose is scrunched up in thought. “He’s so skinny.”

“Yes, but he’s…” Remus gestures vaguely with his hands, indicating Sirius’ broad shoulders.

“Right.” Tonks turns to the attendant, whose name tag reads GAVIN. Gavin is listening to their exchange with an expression of mild amusement on his face. “We don’t know his size, but he’s tall and skinny.”

“Alright,” the young man says. He pulls a few pairs of trousers from a rack, passing them to Tonks. She immediately shoves them into Remus’ arms.

“This number here is for length, and this one’s for waist size,” Gavin says. “Is he about your height?” he asks Remus.

“Taller,” Tonks answers before Remus can even open his mouth. “A few inches at least.”

_ Four _ , Remus thinks, but says nothing.

“Alright,” Gavin says again. He’s moved on to shirts now, and is piling them on top of the trousers Remus is barely holding onto.

“Anything here look interesting?” Gavin asks. Remus wasn’t aware he was supposed to be paying attention.

“Erm,” he says, shifting the piles of clothing so he can get a better idea of what the hell he’s holding. “I think maybe darker colours?”

“Yeah, I can’t see him in a polka dot,” Tonks agrees, picking a few shirts out of the lot and returning them to the rack.

“Are we building a new wardrobe?” Gavin is engrossed in fabrics now, flicking through shorts and button down shirts with a speed and dexterity that Remus marvels at. “Do we need outerwear?”

Remus sets the ever growing mountain of clothes down on an empty chair and shakes out his aching arms. It’s only two days from the full moon, and his muscles are still sore.

“I think maybe more jumpers?” he says. “He gets cold at night.”

“Do we need pajamas as well?” Gavin is already elbow deep in flannel pajama bottoms.

“I think we do,” Remus says. He holds up a pair of jeans Gavin has picked out for them. They look like they’d be big on Remus, which means they’d be far too big for Sirius.

“These are too big.”

“Really?” Gavin looks skeptical. “How skinny is he?”

A wicked smile spreads across Tonks’ face. “Think ‘just got released from twelve years in prison’ skinny.”

Gavin laughs nervously, eyes flicking to Remus as if to ask “is she serious?” Remus smiles blandly at him.

“Okay,” Gavin says. “Got it. Let’s try these, then.”

It feels to Remus as though they end up buying nearly half the store. Sirius had given them a sack full of Galleons, and the exchange to Muggle currency had worked generously in their favour. Tonks adds more and more clothes to the pile, chatting easily with Gavin about style and fit and patterns and a multitude of things Remus has no hope of understanding.

Once Tonks and Gavin have started debating whether boxers or briefs would be better, Remus makes himself scarce. He doesn’t think he can stomach the look on Tonks’ face if he mentions that he knows for a fact that Sirius wears briefs.

He wanders idly through the racks of clothes, fingers trailing along sleeves of varying textures. He stops in his tracks when his fingertips reach a stiff, smooth fabric. Remus pulls it from the rack and his heart stutters in his chest.

It’s a crisp, black leather jacket. A thick silver zip runs down the front, and a button clasp up top fastens the collar. It has significantly less studs and straps than Remus remembers Sirius’ old jacket having, but something in the simplicity of the straight lines draws Remus in.

Sirius had practically lived in his leather jacket those last couple of years. The creases in the elbows had gone grey and flaking with overuse, the once shining buckles a dull brass. Remus thinks of wearing the jacket himself on long motorbike rides, being enveloped in the thick scent of leather and citrus and Sirius. The sleeves would fall over his hands as he wrapped his arms around Sirius’ waist, laughing as the wind whipped their hair and the sun beat on their backs.

A small hand touches his elbow tentatively.

“Do you think he’d like that?” Tonks asks. She’s smiling up at him, dimple creasing her right cheek.

Remus swallows past a sudden lump in his throat.

“Yes, I think he would.”

\---

They stop to buy sandwiches and lemonades at a cafe near the shop, then take their many bags and discretely Apparate to a park not far from Grimmauld Place to eat. Remus’ hip is more than happy to rest for a while, even if it is on a rather wobbly park bench.

“I’d say that was a success,” Tonks says, swallowing an alarmingly large bite of her chicken sandwich.

Remus hums slightly in acquiescence. “I just hope he likes at least most of it,” he says.

“I’m sure he will!” Tonks is enthusiastic as always. “Besides, you know him well enough to know what he’ll like.”

Remus takes a long, thoughtful sip of his lemonade.

“I suppose.”

They fall into silence as they finish their sandwiches. Remus feels Tonks glancing at him out of the corner of her eye every now and then, but he feigns ignorance and crumples up the dirty parchment paper wrapper of his sandwich into a ball. 

“Do you mind?” he asks Tonks as he pulls out a cigarette.

“Only if you don’t share,” she grins.

He lights two fags and passes her one. He tries and fails to suppress the pleased flush that rises in his cheeks when he notices the glint in her eye at his wandless magic.

“So I know you two were close, back in school,” Tonks says. Remus can tell she’s weighing her words. “Are you still? Close?”

Remus has no illusions as to what she’s really asking. He’s aware that his relationship with Sirius was common knowledge amongst the old Order members. They weren’t trying to hide anything. Andromeda and Ted most certainly knew; they went to visit them together multiple times after Hogwarts. Before their world came crashing down around them.

Everything now is so fragile, so many things left unsaid. Remus isn’t sure he can see them picking up where they left off. He’s not sure he  _ wants _ to. He’s here to be a comforting presence to Sirius, to help him through his anxieties. He doesn’t think Sirius sees him as anything more than that.

“We’re,” he begins, then falters. “It’s complicated.”

Tonks blows out a ring of smoke and watches it dissipate slowly into the humid summer air. 

“Besides,” Remus continues when she says nothing. “There are far more important things to be worrying about right now.”

Tonks looks thoughtful as she inhales deeply from her cigarette.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely fair,” she says at last. “I mean yes, wars and You-Know-Who and whatnot,” she waves her hand dismissively. “But we all deserve to be happy, even with all that shit going on.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not sure that’s what Sirius wants,” Remus says. He feels as though the words are rising in his throat of their own accord. His cheeks are hot and he very resolutely does not meet Tonks’ gaze.

“Have you seen how he looks at you?” Tonks says softly.

Remus thinks of the night of the full moon, being so close to Sirius for the first time without any crying and screaming involved. The look in Sirius’ quicksilver eyes is etched into his mind.

“It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Tonks agrees. “But you could at least talk about it.”

Remus’ head is spinning. “He’s not very easy to talk to, these days.”

“Have you  _ tried _ ?”

Remus glances over at her. Her usually jovial face is tight and serious. Her eyes (blue, today) are glaring at him hard.

“I’m not saying you have to jump into bed together,” she says. “Just talk. You’re both obviously miserable.”

Remus heaves a sigh that he feels all the way down to his toes. He flicks his cigarette butt out to the gravel beneath them.

“You’re probably right,” he concedes.

“I usually am,” Tonks says, and her smile is back in place, lighting up her eyes.

She stands and stretches her arms high overhead. Her shirt rides up and Remus’ gaze drops involuntarily to the pale skin of her back, lingering on the dimples just above the low-slung waistband of her jeans.

“Shall we head back?” Tonks has turned back to him and almost certainly caught his wandering eyes.

He feels his face burning and it has nothing to do with the blazing sun.

\---

Sirius seems happy when they get back from their shopping trip. He immediately bounds over to Remus and grabs his arm tightly, hovering over his shoulder as though to peer into the shopping bags.

“What have you got me, Moony?” he asks into Remus’ ear.

“All sorts,” Tonks answers, heaving her own bags onto the dilapidated sofa and shaking out her wrists. “You’ll be happy to hear we spent all of the money you gave us!”

Sirius shrugs, not looking up at her. “Not like I have anything better to do with it.”

Remus tugs his arm from Sirius’ vice grip, frowning slightly. He sets his bags down next to Tonks’. She’s already begun unpacking, pulling out shirt after shirt and laying them all on the back of the sofa. Other members of the household trickle past; Ginny and Ron are hovering near the doorway, watching curiously.

“Ooh, I like that colour,” Ginny says, pointing to a simple, light blue t-shirt.

“Most of what we got is dark and mysterious, like you,” Tonks says to Sirius. “But I think this colour will look great with your skin tone.”

Sirius grunts noncommittally, picking through the items of clothing. He shoots a scathing glare at Tonks when he picks up a pair of purple briefs; it sends Ginny into a fit of giggles while Ron turns a brilliant shade of red.

“You really didn’t have to get me these,” he says drily, throwing them back into the bag.

“By all means, keep sharing Remus’ underwear,” Tonks says innocently.

“Fuck’s sake,” Remus murmurs under his breath to Tonks, knowing he’s gone nearly as red as Ron.

She laughs and bumps his shoulder. Sirius’ gaze flickers between them, eyes narrowed.

“Here,” Remus says, picking up the heaviest bag and hoping to divert Sirius’ glaring. “Look at this.”

He slides the leather jacket from the bag. Sirius inhales sharply, eyes wide. He takes the jacket almost reverently. Remus notices the slight tremble in his hands.

“Try it on!” Tonks says.

Sirius slips into the jacket and Remus’ breath catches in his throat.

It fits perfectly; snug on the shoulders, slim down his torso. His eyes are bright and shining when he looks up at Remus, seemingly on the verge of tears.

“Did you pick this out, Remus?” he asks quietly.

Remus smiles in response, not trusting himself to speak. He can see so vividly in his mind Sirius at eighteen, turning in circles with his arms held out, showing off his new jacket from every angle. James laughs from behind him, then cries out in exaggerated disgust when Sirius swoops in on Remus, dipping him low in a deep kiss.

The look in Sirius' eyes tells Remus he's remembering the same moment. Remus breaks eye contact, turning to fuss with the multitude of bags strewn across the sofa. 

"Good one, Lupin!" Tonks says, sliding an arm around his waist and squeezing. "Definitely worth spending the rest of his money on."

Remus grins as he carefully folds the new clothes into more organized piles. He can feel Sirius' gaze on the back of his neck like a laser beam, burning into his skin. 

\---

Later that afternoon, Remus heads down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. His hip throbs with every step, and he groans at the thought of having to climb all the way back up afterwards. Despite his misgivings about house elves, he would gladly have requested Kreacher fix him his tea, were Kreacher willing to take orders from the "filthy monster".

He hears voices as he nears the kitchen, recognising the loud terse one as Sirius'. Remus freezes in his tracks when he hears his name.

"What do you want with Remus?" 

"What do you mean?" Tonks. She sounds politely confused.

"You know what I mean." Sirius' voice is low and venomous. Remus leans closer, holding his breath.

"You're imagining things, Sirius," Tonks says dismissively.

A harsh bark of a laugh. 

"Imagining you with your hands all over him?"

A chair scrapes across the floor, and Remus hears a mumbled "excuse me…"

Bill exits the kitchen, holding a sheaf of papers, obviously uncomfortable. He starts when he sees Remus standing in the dark hallway, then smiles sympathetically before making his way up the stairs.

"You know he's gay," Sirius is saying. Remus' throat is tight and his heart thunders in his chest. 

"Is he?" Tonks says blandly. 

"Just stop flirting with him," Sirius says firmly.

"Sorry, is he your boyfriend?"

Remus is sure his heart stops beating in the time it takes Sirius to sputter. 

"I — that's not — "

Another scraping of a chair, and when Tonks next speaks her voice is close and angry.

"You should probably be talking to  _ him  _ about that, then, not me."

Remus doesn't have time to move before she's storming out of the kitchen. She spares him a quick pitying glance, then disappears up the stairs. 

Remus can hardly draw breath through the tightness in his throat. His heart is beating loudly in his ears. He moves towards the stairs and feels like he's walking through molasses. He vaguely hears Sirius calling his name but he keeps moving, one foot after the other, sharp pain in his hip, pounding in his head. 

Fingers grab at his sleeve but he pulls away, lets out a weak "don't", and doesn't stop until he's at the door of their shared room. He knows it's not really an escape, knows Sirius will just follow him in, but for a long minute he leans against the door and draws in great gasping breaths like he's just breached the surface of water that keeps lapping mercilessly over his nose.

Sirius pushes the door open and Remus stumbles forward. Sirius automatically reaches out to steady him and Remus tears his arm away as though burned.

"Remus." 

Sirius' face is heartbreaking. Dismay and fear is etched into every line in his face. For once, Remus can't find it in himself to be empathetic. He pulls out his wand and casts a silencing charm on the room. 

"You need to apologise to Tonks," he says, and his voice is harsher than he'd expected.

"What?"

"She's just being nice," Remus says, "and you were awful to her." 

Sirius' hands clench into fists, and he speaks through gritted teeth. 

"She's not 'just being nice', Remus. She likes you."

"And?" Remus takes a step forward. Sirius stands his ground. "So what if she does? Am I not allowed to have relationships?" 

Sirius frowns, shakes his head. "You don't…you don't mean that." 

"Why wouldn't I?" Remus' voice rises with each word. "She's been nothing but lovely to me ever since we arrived." 

"But…" Sirius' eyes are wide and frightened.

"But  _ what _ , Sirius?" Remus is properly shouting now. "What? What do you want from me?!" 

"I — you can't — " 

Rage flares bright and hot in Remus and he takes another step forward so he's only an inch from Sirius' face. 

"Can't what? Why is it everyone's deciding for me what I can and cannot do?"

Anger twists Sirius' features. He shoves a hand against Remus' chest and roughly pushes him back. 

"Telling  _ you _ what to do? Who's the one on house arrest? Who's the one who can't buy his own fucking  _ underwear _ ?!" 

"So that's what this is?" Remus couldn't control his words if he tried. It's all rushing out of him on a wave of anger and spite. "You want me to suffer like you? Punishment for living my life without you for twelve years?"

Sirius looks as though Remus has slapped him across the face.

"I'm so  _ sorry _ ," he hisses, "that I want you in my life after twelve -" 

"No, Sirius, you don't want me." Remus says. "You're  _ used  _ to me."

Remus takes a step away from Sirius. There's a ringing in his ears and his hands are shaking. Sirius' face has crumpled in on itself, his eyes are swimming with tears. 

"You don't even know me," Remus says, and every word hurts. "You don't know anything about me, you don't know what I've been through these past thirteen years. You don't know what I've done, who I've had to be…and you didn't even  _ ask _ . You want me because I'm familiar, Sirius. Because when we look at each other we can pretend we're teenagers again. Because you can call me Moony and I'll smile and we can pretend for a second that we know  _ anything  _ about each other. But you don't  _ want  _ me."

Tears spill from Sirius' eyes. He's shaking his head. 

"You're not — that's not true," he whispers. 

"Isn't it?" Remus knows he's hurting him, knows every word is like a dagger to the chest, but he can't stop. "Then why did you tell Tonks I'm gay? That I couldn't possibly be interested in her? Was it just a momentary jealousy or do you  _ just not know me _ ." 

"Remus," Sirius is sobbing softly now. "Remus you're the only one I  _ do _ know. You're the only thing…the only thing I know. All I know, all I've ever known, always, is that I want you."

Remus' heart is aching so much he can't bear it. He closes his eyes against the onslaught of tears threatening to fall.

"You're just proving my point," he says, hating himself. "You want me because I'm familiar. Not because you want  _ me." _

"You're wrong," Sirius says, suddenly vehement. "You don't — you're not — what do I have to do? Ask you about your life? Ask about your jobs? Ask how many people you've slept with?"

"That's not what I — " 

"I don't — tell me what you need from me, Remus. Anything. Anything at all and I'll do it."

He's stepping forward, tears glistening on his sharp cheekbones like cut glass. Remus can feel the distance between them like an electric current, a buzz humming louder and louder through his body with every step Sirius takes towards him.

"Do you know what I kept thinking? In Azkaban? Every night I'd think, I hope Remus finds out. Somehow. I hope we don't die before Remus finds out it wasn't me."

He's close enough to touch now, and Remus sways where he stands. 

"I thought," Sirius says, a fresh wave of tears rolling thickly down his face. "I thought I can't live, knowing you think I could  _ ever  _ do that to you."

He raises a hand slowly. Gently touches Remus' face. Remus' eyes flutter shut. He can't stand to look at Sirius. Can't hear the words he's saying. Every deep part of him has shattered and he's not sure he knows how to pick up the pieces. He leans into Sirius' touch, finding the smallest of comforts in the familiarity of his hand.

“I couldn’t live, Remus,” Sirius says. His voice is barely above a whisper, his breath warm on Remus’ forehead. “I couldn't —”

“Stop,” Remus says, not opening his eyes. “Just. Just stop.”

He grabs the front of Sirius’ shirt, pulls him down, and kisses him.

Sirius’s mouth is soft and salty with tears. His hand shifts to the back of Remus’ head, tilting him just so with practised ease, as though it’s been just a day since they last kissed and not thirteen years.

A high pitched whine escapes Remus, and he feels his legs wobble beneath him. Sirius’ arm snakes around his waist, holding him steady and pulling their bodies flush. It only serves to deepen their kiss, and as Sirius' tongue grazes Remus' bottom lip all Remus can think is  _ this is a bad idea this is a bad idea this is a bad idea fuck fuck FUCK.  _

He tangles his fingers in Sirius' hair, rising on his toes to get a better angle. Every point of contact between their bodies is alight with white hot flames, and Remus is burning up. He kisses Sirius so fiercely he's forced back a step, then another, until his back hits the wall and he lets out a low moan.

"Remus," Sirius breathes against his mouth. 

"Shut up," Remus says.

He should stop. He knows he should stop. He knows they’re not ready for this, whatever this is, after just one half-assed fight where nothing at all was resolved. But then Sirius slots a thigh between his and his hands slide down to cup Remus from behind and any coherent thought escapes him in a sharp gasp against Sirius’ neck.

Remus licks a line up to Sirius’ jaw, rough with stubble. He’s drowning in Sirius, in the smell of him, in the feel of his hands creeping under the waistband of his trousers. Remus’ breath is fast and hitching with desperation. He reaches down to unbutton Sirius’ jeans. Sirius groans and jerks his hips when Remus’ fingers curl around him.

Remus’ forehead rests on the crook of Sirius’ shoulder, eyes still closed. Desire burns tight in his abdomen at the small noises Sirius is making into his ear. It only takes a few firm strokes before Sirius is tensing all over and, almost completely silently, spilling into Remus’ hand.

“ _ Remus... _ ”

He fumbles desperately at his own trousers. His hand is slick with Sirius’ come, his neck wet and hot from Sirius’ mouth. Sirius bites down just under his jaw, his fingers slide down the cleft of his arse and press in and the coil in Remus snaps.

Remus lets out a hoarse cry, muffled in Sirius’ shoulder. His body trembles with the force of it. He pants heavily into Sirius' neck, still clutching his hair as though it's the only thing keeping him upright.

Sirius is murmuring his name, peppering kisses down Remus' neck. He disentangles himself with difficulty, finally opening his eyes to gaze down at the mess on his hand. A cold wave of regret washes over him. 

He pulls his wand out awkwardly with his left hand and casts a clumsy  _ scourgify  _ to his hand and their shirts. 

"Thanks," Sirius says quietly, tucking himself back into his jeans.

Remus looks up at him. His face is flushed, lips pink and swollen, hair a wild black halo. His silver eyes are wide as they search Remus' face.

"Don't say you're sorry," Sirius all but whispers. 

"No," Remus shakes his head. "I'm not."

It's only half true, and they both know it. Silence falls over them, heavy and uncomfortable. 

"I just," Remus tries. "I think — " 

"Maybe that's your problem," Sirius says. "You think too much."

Remus smiles humourlessly. "Well, that's always been true."

"Don't worry, Remus," Sirius says. His voice is flat and bitter. "I won't dare to presume this was anything other than a spontaneous wanking between friends."

Sirius is gone before Remus can even open his mouth to respond. The door slams behind him, making Remus flinch. 

He stands there, hating himself, for a long time.

\---

That night, Sirius sleeps in Buckbeak’s room. He spends the entirety of the next day up on the rooftop, not even coming down for mealtimes.

Anxiety gnaws at Remus’ stomach. He knows he needs to apologise. He knows he was harsh, knows he hurt Sirius. But more than all that, he knows Sirius  _ needs _ him. And he’s pushing him away.

He’s sitting alone at the kitchen table, brooding over his evening cup of tea when the summons from Dumbledore arrives. In a flash of flame that nearly sends him toppling backwards over his chair, a small roll of parchment drops onto the table. Remus reaches for it, breaks the phoenix seal, and unfurls the roll. His chest tightens with every word.

_ Remus, _

_ We believe we may have located followers of Greyback. Be ready tomorrow at 7 o’clock for a briefing. _

_ A.D. _

The letter bursts into flame the moment he’s finished reading.

Remus stares down at the small pile of ash. He feels oddly disconnected from his body as he rises from the table.

He needs to find Sirius.

The ancient wooden stairs creak loudly with every heavy step. It’s the only noise in the house, save for the ringing in his ears and the  _ thud thud thud _ of his heart.

He’s just reached the third floor landing when the bathroom door directly to his left bursts open and Sirius walks out. The sudden movement startles Remus and he trips over the final step. Sirius rushes forward to break his fall, grabbing him around the chest.

“Ow, fuck, sorry,” Remus stammers, gripping Sirius’ arms tightly to pull himself up.

Once Remus seems able to stand on his own, Sirius immediately lets him go and steps back, eyes downcast. His long hair is wet and dripping on his shoulders, and Remus’ shirt is damp from where he’d held him.

“Thank you,” Remus says. 

Sirius grunts and turns to leave.

“Sirius, wait,” Remus reaches out; the edge of Sirius’ sleeve slips through his fingertips.

“What,” Sirius says flatly, not turning to look at him.

“Can we talk? Please?”

Something of the desperation Remus feels must be evident in his voice, because Sirius sighs and turns to open the door of their bedroom. Remus follows him in and closes the door behind him. His heart has picked up the pace again, beating out of his chest.

Sirius sits on the edge of the four poster bed, looking up at Remus disinterestedly.

Remus thinks involuntarily of the last time he’d informed Sirius he had a mission. Twenty years old, unaware that the path they were setting down would lead to such a horrible future. Sirius had sat on the edge of the bed then, too. But his eyes were alight, his posture sharp. Remus remembers the confusion flitting across his face when he tells Sirius he  _ can’t _ tell him where he’s going, or how long he’ll be gone for. He remembers Sirius’ frown creasing between his brows, his grip tightening on his wand, all too ready to Apparate to tell Dumbledore off for insisting they keep secrets from each other.

This Sirius, here and now, is the picture of apathy. Were it not for his slow, methodical blinking, he might almost be a statue.

“I’m getting a mission tomorrow,” Remus says. Saying it out loud sends a sudden, urgent flash of fear through him.

Sirius’ expression doesn’t change.

“Alright. You can’t tell me what it is.” It’s not a question.

“I don’t know,” Remus responds. The words are coming so fast they almost blend together. “Maybe not. But I haven’t met with Dumbledore yet, so he hasn’t told me I can’t, so fuck that.”

A grin cracks up the side of Sirius’ mouth.

“So what is it?” he asks.

“What it was last time. Werewolves.”

His heart stutters and his knees very nearly give out beneath him. Sirius frowns slightly. 

"He said it's Greyback's followers," Remus says. He sits down next to Sirius and realises his hands are trembling.

"Shit," Sirius says quietly. 

"I knew that probably…" Remus falters, throat tight. "Probably that's what they'd want from me."

"Yeah."

Remus looks down at his hands, clenches them into fists in an attempt to stop the tremors. All he can think is  _ last time, last time, last time.  _ Last time, it broke them. It broke him. He wasn't even  _ there _ , he wasn't there, when it happened. He was in a hideout deep in some unknown wood, playing spy to werewolves who never had any intention of joining them. He was hiding and the world around him was dying. The Sirius he knew was dying. James and Lily were already dead.

He's only aware he's sobbing when Sirius' hands grab him and pull him into a tight embrace. 

Remus falls against Sirius' shoulder and cries like he hasn't in years. He cries for their youth, cut short by horrors they never should have seen. He cries for Lily and James, taken away so abruptly he never got to say goodbye. He cries for his fractured relationship with Sirius, shattered by secrecy and lies and now broken beyond repair. And he cries for the future, only on the cusp of war and already fraught with violence and death.

Sirius holds him close, one hand stroking his hair and the other wiping his tears as they fall. He's murmuring against Remus' forehead, lips warm and soft, and Remus sobs louder when he thinks of Sirius comforting  _ him _ , of how unfair he's been to the both of them, how much of an  _ idiot  _ he is.

"I know," Sirius is humming, almost chanting. "I know, Remus, I know."

"I'm s-sorry," Remus gasps.

Sirius says nothing but tightens his grip on Remus until it almost hurts.

That night, Sirius sleeps in their room, in Remus' bed, chest pressed against Remus' back. Remus sleeps a dreamless sleep until morning. 

\---

Remus stares into his dark tea, inhaling the steam but not drinking. Molly’s made it too strong and his stomach is in knots after his meeting with Dumbledore.

It was just about as quick and to the point as Remus had suspected it would be. Dumbledore wants him to start observing Greyback’s followers, get a feel for whether or not they’ve already been contacted by Voldemort. Dumbledore believes it is of the utmost importance that the Order reach the werewolves first, and he wants Remus off up North where the pack was spotted as early as next week.

Anxiety sends his stomach roiling once more at the thought. He probably should just forego the tea and head up to the roof for a cigarette.

A loud thud from upstairs unleashes Walburga’s portrait and her screams rend the air.

_ “Filthy Mudblood! How dare you disgrace my doorstep!” _

Remus winces at the shrillness of her voice. He’d set her off this morning as well, stumbling through the dark drawing room on his way to meet Dumbledore. She’s quickly silenced, and Remus hears what sounds like suitcases being dragged across the floor. A minute later, Tonks is descending the staircase with Hermione Granger in tow.

“Morning!” Tonks greets, cheerful as ever.

Remus smiles tightly in response. He can’t help but think of when he last saw Tonks, eyes flashing with anger as she stormed past him after rowing with Sirius.

“Good morning, dears,” Molly says warmly. “Help yourselves to tea and coffee, I’m just starting on breakfast now.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says, gratefully sinking into a chair. “Hello, Professor Lupin.”

Remus has stopped trying to convince the kids to call him “Remus”, or at the least, “Mr Lupin”.

“Hello, Hermione,” he says. “Good trip?”

“It was her first time Side-Along Apparating!” Tonks is beaming as she fills a mug of tea for Hermione.

Remus exchanges a commiserating glance with Hermione, who looks rather shaken and pale.

“It takes some getting used to,” he says kindly.

Something topples over above them, and Tonks exclaims loudly, “It wasn’t me this time!” just as Walburga’s shrieks once more carry across the entire house.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Tonks says conversationally to Hermione, who grimaces into her tea.

“Are you staying long, Tonks?” Molly asks. She seems unfazed by the screaming, waving her wand vaguely so eggs begin to scramble themselves.

“I’ve got to be at work in an hour,” Tonks replies. “Apparently Kingsley’s got a very interesting presentation planned for today. Did you know he’s in charge of catching Sirius?” She directs this at Remus, grinning fiendishly.

“Really?”

She nods and gulps at her coffee. “I hope he sends Sirius off somewhere nice and sunny.”

Remus smiles grimly. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Where is he, anyway? I wanted to say hi before I head off.”

"Probably still asleep."

"With this racket?"

As though she'd used a spell, the screaming from upstairs is cut off abruptly. 

"That'll be Arthur," Molly says, glancing up at the ceiling. “Ginny and the boys should be down soon, Hermione, dear.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Something bumps Remus’ leg under the table and he jumps. Tonks snickers and kicks his leg again, gently.

“You two patch things up, then?” Her eyes are wide and staring and very blue over the edge of her mug.

He can almost feel Sirius’ lips on his, feel the heat of their bodies pressed together, smell the sharp tang of their sweat mixed with the deep musk of sex.

Remus wishes he had some control over the flush staining his cheeks red.

“Everything’s fine,” he says briskly, clearing his throat. He can’t quite meet Tonks’ eye, and he can feel Hermione looking between them curiously. “I should probably check that he’s awake.”

He rises from the table and rushes from the room before Tonks can respond.

He finds himself standing in front of the door to their room a minute later. Despite his assurance to Tonks, he's not entirely sure where he and Sirius stand. They didn't talk much, last night; Remus had cried until he fell asleep.

Maybe Sirius was right. Remus thinks too much.

He pushes the door open slowly, not actually wanting to wake Sirius. He sleeps so fitfully and rarely that Remus wouldn't wake him even if it were mid afternoon. 

But Sirius is awake, lying on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. Tear tracks glisten on his cheeks in the dim sunlight filtering through the window. His arm lies off the edge of the bed, one of Remus' cigarettes held loosely between his fingers; half the cigarette has burned to ash and is hanging on precariously.

"Hey," Remus says softly, shutting the door behind him. "Are you — did something happen?"

Sirius shakes his head minutely, raising the fag to his lips. The ash breaks off and falls to the floor. Remus sits gingerly next to Sirius on the edge of the bed and takes his free hand. 

Sirius blinks at him, and a tear falls down his cheekbone and into his hairline. He exhales a plume of smoke that stings Remus' eyes. 

"Just. Her," Sirius says shortly. His voice is hoarse and cracking. "All morning." 

Remus averts his gaze to look down at their intertwined fingers, guilt burning his throat. He'd set her off this morning, and everyone else has become so used to her screeches that they don't even bother shutting her up right away. He knows how it affects Sirius, he saw what happened that first time. But he didn't think, didn't even blink an eye.

"I fucking hate being here." There's no bite in Sirius' voice, just a bitter statement of fact.

"I know."

"Can't even go out, as a dog. To the park, down the street, anywhere. All I have is this house full of her voice and the rooftop full of my fucking idiot brother." He takes in a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes are brimming with tears again. 

Remus kicks off his shoes and climbs over Sirius to lie on his other side, not letting go of his hand. Sirius turns his face so it rests on Remus' shoulder, wet cheek soaking through his thin shirt almost immediately. Remus brings Sirius' hand to his mouth and kisses it. 

"Don't you think," Remus says after a long moment of silence, "it would have bothered her more if you'd hung up posters of half naked men?"

A surprised laugh bursts from Sirius.

"Probably," he agrees. "But that kind of material wasn't readily available at the corner shops back then."

"I suppose not," Remus muses. 

"Besides, I can appreciate the female form," Sirius says almost indignantly. 

"Can you?" 

"Not as much as  _ you,  _ apparently." 

Sirius has turned onto his side, arm flopping over Remus' chest. Remus can feel his gaze boring a hole in his temple.

"I didn't realise this was such a surprise," he says to the ceiling.

"You didn't have girlfriends at school." Sirius sounds petulant and Remus knows if he shifts to look at him he'll have his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

"No," Remus says quietly. "I had you."

Sirius lets out a soft, strangled noise. He reaches up and takes Remus' chin between his fingers until Remus is looking into blazing silver eyes. 

Sirius closes the distance between them. Their lips brush in a gentle kiss. That noise escapes Sirius again, a sighing whine, and Remus twists to face him, deepening their kiss. Remus snakes his arm around Sirius' back and holds him tight against his chest; Sirius' arms are pinned between them, one hand still gripping Remus' jaw.

They lie there for what feels like both an hour and a fleeting minute. Remus is reminded of lazy weekend mornings in the dormitory, curled up together so long Remus forgets what it feels like to  _ not _ hold Sirius in his arms.

Sirius slides his hand underneath Remus' shirt and trails it up his back. Remus shivers as his fingers flit over the sensitive scar tissue crisscrossing his skin. He hooks his leg over Sirius’ hip and rolls him onto his back. Sirius moans into Remus’ mouth, pushing Remus’ shirt further up his back. Remus sits up to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

He gazes down at Sirius’s flushed face, lips parted as he pants slightly.

“Remus,” he whispers, hands on Remus’ waist, thumbs pressing bruises into the dip of his hip bones.

Remus leans back down slowly, pressing their bodies together inch by inch until he’s just a breath away from Sirius’ lips.

_ “Traitors! Mudbloods! Vile and pestilent, invading the house of my fathers! Scourge of the earth!” _

“Fuck.”

Sirius freezes underneath him. Remus sits up again hurriedly. He casts a silencing spell on the room and Walburga’s curses are cut off. Sirius’ eyes are screwed shut and his chest is rising and falling with rapid breaths. Remus tries to move off of him, but Sirius’ fingers are clenched in a vice grip on his waist.

“Don’t,” Sirius says. “Please, just…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Come here.”

Remus hesitates. Sirius plants his hands on his back and pulls him forward forcefully, so he falls to his elbows with a grunted  _ oof _ .

“Sirius, I — ”

Sirius cuts him off with a searing kiss. One hand is tangled in Remus’ hair and the other slips down past the waistband of Remus’ trousers. Sirius rolls his hips up to meet Remus’ and Remus gasps sharply.

“Did you mean it?” Sirius whispers suddenly. His face is so close Remus can hardly keep him in focus. Remus blinks.

“I — what? Mean what?” He can hardly think past the press of Sirius’ cock against his.

“That I don’t know you.” His eyes are wide and frantic. “That I don’t want you.”

A flash of panic shoots through Remus’ stomach.

"Sirius, don't — " 

“Can’t you see, Remus?” Sirius is breathless, whether with desire or desperation Remus doesn’t know. “Can’t you  _ feel _ how much I want you?” He pushes his hips into Remus’ once more; his fingernails dig painfully into Remus’ back.

“Sirius,  _ stop _ .”

Remus pulls away so sharply he overbalances and falls backwards on his arse. He pushes himself up onto his elbows to see Sirius is shaking; he has an arm thrown over his face, biting his sleeve as though to muffle a sob.

“No,” Sirius says through the fabric of his shirt. He sits up, and his face is twisted with anger. “You’re not afraid I don’t know you. You’re afraid of how much I  _ do _ .”

Remus stares into Sirius’ crazed eyes and his stomach clenches yet again.

“I’m the only one who  _ does _ know you, Remus,” Sirius is nearly shouting now, hands fisted in the bedsheets. “I know every last piece of you, every secret, every wish and hope and dream! Every fear and doubt! I  _ know you, Remus _ .”

Remus can hardly breathe, can hardly hear the words he speaks over the thundering of his heart.

“Then why did you switch to Peter?”

Sirius’ expression cracks like a dropped glass.

“Why did you switch?” Remus asks again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you think — ” His voice catches in his throat and comes out barely a whisper. "Why did you think it was me?"

They've been teetering on the edge of the precipice for weeks now. Remus has just grabbed him and hurled them both into the void.

"You. You were with the werewolves," Sirius says, as though it makes all the sense in the world. His words set a simmering rage bubbling beneath Remus' skin. 

"On a mission," Remus replies, surprisingly steady. "Was it that easy to think I'd join them?"

Sirius shakes his head, averting his gaze down to the bed. “Why? Why are you — ”

“Because I need to know, Sirius. I need to know why it was  _ so easy _ to believe I’d — ”

“It was Peter,” Sirius interrupts.

“I know it was — ”

“No,  _ it was Peter _ .” 

Sirius looks up at him, face contorted with anguish. Remus’ stomach lurches.

“He, he told us,” Sirius says, words tumbling over each other in their haste to come out. “He planted all the seeds. Told us how you’d always wanted to meet more werewolves, how you told him the full moons were better with them. Said you’d never belonged anywhere, were always different, but with them you  _ belonged _ .”

Memories flood Remus’ mind, unbidden. That last year, Peter always managed to pop by whenever Sirius was gone. Every time, there would be a casual,  _ “Sirius not around, then?” _ He would peruse Remus’ copy of the  _ Prophet _ , pointing out atrocities carried out by the Lestranges, muttering as though hoping Remus couldn’t hear  _ “I can’t believe Sirius is  _ related  _ to people like that.” _

And Remus would brush it off as common conversations of wartime. But late at night, as he lay in the half empty bed, head resting close enough to Sirius’ pillow to catch the faint scent of him, he’d feel it fester. It ate away at him, not knowing where Sirius was, what he was doing, who he was with. And when it all happened, when he returned to London to find the Wizarding World celebrating and his entire life torn apart, he heard the echoing of Peter’s words as evidence.  _ He’s related to people like them. He  _ is  _ like them. _

For years, Remus thought, he should have seen it coming. Because that was easier than looking any deeper. Because looking any deeper hurt down to his very core, and he was so very alone he couldn’t bear it. So it was locked away, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, so that he was just alone, and not  _ betrayed _ , not  _ abandoned. _

“Remus?”

Sirius is sitting against the headboard, thin knees pulled up to his chest. He’s chewing on his lip, looking for all the world like a child afraid he’s about to be scolded.

“I,” Remus nearly chokes on the word. He swallows thickly and clears his throat. “I hadn’t realised. I never thought — ”

_ I never tried thinking you were anything other than guilty. _

“Remus,” Sirius says again. There’s a slight tremble in his voice that makes Remus’ chest ache. “Remus, I didn’t — it was so hard, to keep things straight. Everything was happening all at once, everyone was — was dying, and...you were — you were gone…”

The guilt washes over him in a wave so overwhelming he feels sure he’ll drown right here on the corner of Sirius’ childhood bed.

“I’m sorry,” Remus breathes. “I’m sorry I didn’t — I wasn’t there. After the —” His throat is so tight it hurts. “When I got back, I was so...so  _ angry _ , for such a long time. I thought, how could I have been so stupid? So blind?” He blinks furiously to keep his tears at bay.

“He twisted us against each other, Remus,” Sirius says quietly. “He did it so perfectly that I didn’t even realise until years later that it was all his idea, making him Secret Keeper. I was so sure I was being so brilliant, no one would  _ ever  _ suspect. But would I have ever chosen him, if he hadn’t made me doubt you?”

“The worst part is,” Remus screws his eyes shut and lets the tears fall. “The worst part is he was right. I  _ did _ want to meet other werewolves. I  _ did _ have somewhat of a sense of... belonging.”

Sirius frowns, dropping his gaze down to his hands.

“But that’s not to say — I mean, I didn’t  _ agree _ with what they were doing,” Remus says. “I mostly...felt bad for them. They felt they had no other choice. And I’m...I’m scared. To go back there. Go back to that mindset. Back to the hiding, the spying, the...uncertainty. I —” He breaks off, dropping his head into his hands.

He feels the dip of Sirius moving to sit next to him. Sirius takes his hands and pulls them gently away from his face. Remus looks up at him, and his face is so full of fierce warmth that Remus can’t breathe.

“It won’t be like last time,” Sirius says firmly. “We’ve got each other. No secrets, no lying. I’m not fucking going anywhere, Moony. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

Sirius is smiling and it is so like twenty year old Sirius that Remus chokes out a small sob. He feels overwhelmed by memories, the images playing like a film in his mind, the emotions fresh as ever, squeezing at his heart. How can he possibly be with Sirius, here and now, without being constantly bombarded by the past? And yet, how could he possibly  _ not _ be with Sirius, here and now, smiling and soft and damaged all at once?

“Remus,” Sirius murmurs. His thumb strokes Remus’ cheek, picking up tears and pushing them aside. “If you...if you don’t want to — to be with me. That’s...that’s fine. We don’t have to. I just, I need you. In my life. Even — even if it’s just...as friends.”

Remus is shaking his head before Sirius finishes speaking. He knows, he’s known, since he saw Peter’s name on the Map. Since he saw Sirius in the Shack, manic and crazed, but for the way he said  _ Remus _ . Since Padfoot showed up with Dumbledore on Remus’ doorstop, starved and whining.

Since he kissed Sirius, and it felt like the only right decision he’d made in thirteen years.

They are inevitable.

And, inevitably, Remus leans forward and catches Sirius’ lips with his.

He can feel Sirius’ smile, feel the crinkle of his dimple as he reaches up to take Sirius’ face in his hands. Sirius’ arms wrap around him, tight and warm and  _ right _ and pushes him tumbling backwards onto the bed.

“Moony,” Sirius whispers, kissing Remus’ cheeks, his nose, the scar that cuts across his eyebrow.

“Sirius,” Remus breathes. His heart is beating uncontrollably, and Remus is sure Sirius can feel it as he nips his way down Remus’ neck to his collarbone.

Sirius is pressing him down into the mattress, hips slotted between Remus’ thighs. Remus moans at the friction, the heat between them. He feels almost delirious with desire as he grabs Sirius’ shoulders and drags him back up for a desperate, messy kiss.

He grabs at Sirius’ shirt and jerks it up, whimpering at the look on Sirius’ face when they break apart to pull the shirt over his head. His eyes are a dark, stormy grey, eyelids heavy and cheeks flushed, lips pink and swollen.

“Fuck,” Remus says, arcing his hips up to meet Sirius’, eyes fluttering shut at the heat flooding his body.

SIrius has leaned back down over him, broad body covering his almost entirely. He licks the curve of Remus’ jawbone up to his earlobe, and whispers in a low, throaty moan, “ _ you’re so beautiful, Remus…” _

“Fuck, Sirius,  _ fuck _ .”

Sirius’ hands are on his hips, thumbs dipping beneath his trousers, tantalizingly close. Remus is sure he will explode from it all, the smell of him, the feel of him, his fingers skimming ever so gently over the hardening bulge in his pants.

Remus throws his head back, panting. Sirius pops open the button of his trousers, sucking hard at the spot right beneath his jaw that sends a wave of pleasure crashing through him. Remus lifts his hips as Sirius pulls his trousers and pants down in a swift tug.

“Oh my  _ god  _ —”

Sirius cuts him off with another kiss, so deep and slow that when he finally pulls back Remus feels quite dizzy. Sirius’ fingers curl around Remus' cock, thumb stroking over the leaking head. 

"Moony, Remus, do you want —" 

" _ Yes.  _ Fuck, yes." 

Sirius' shoulders are shaking, and Remus blinks his eyes open to see Sirius is laughing at him. Remus frowns, but just then Sirius rolls his hips in the most  _ delicious _ way and Remus' confused "what?" comes out as a rather pathetic "wha- _ aaah…" _

"I forgot how loud you can be," Sirius smirks, sitting up to slide out of his pajama bottoms. 

Remus gazes up at him through heavy lids. He's still skinny, collarbones and shoulders and elbows all sharp angles, but Remus can no longer count every individual rib. Remus runs his fingers along the tattoos decorating his chest, scrawling runes and symbols Remus can make no sense of. His thumb skims across the left side of Sirius' chest and he stops, breath hitching to a halt. 

Tattooed over Sirius' heart in thick, curving lines are the phases of the moon, with the full moon in the middle, large and prominent.

"Sirius…" Remus looks up at him almost desperately; he feels as though his heart is trying to escape through his throat. 

"I told you," Sirius says softly. "It's always been you."

Tears bead in the corners of Remus' eyes. 

"Don't —" Remus gasps. 

"Alright," Sirius agrees, lowering himself back down over Remus. "I'll stop telling you how I've only ever wanted you."

His breath is hot on Remus' neck, hands running a line of electricity down Remus' abdomen. 

"I can  _ show _ you," he whispers as his fingers slip between Remus' legs. 

"You — ah! You need to stop —  _ fuck _ — talking."

"Alright," Sirius purrs. 

And, aside from breathless curses and soft moaning of each other's names, it's a long while before either of them say anything at all.

—— 

“You boys look a right state.”

Tonks is sitting on the worse-for-wear sofa in the drawing room, flicking through an out of date copy of  _ Witch Weekly _ . She’s shed her knackered trainers and has her legs stretched up beside her, crossed at the ankles. Her violet eyes glint with mischief as she looks the pair of them up and down. Sirius’ hand on the small of Remus’ back retracts quickly.

Remus clears his throat. “I thought you had work?”

Tonks’ wicked grin spreads, cheek dimpling. 

“I did.” She makes a show of checking her non-existent watch. “Nine hours ago. Came back. Order meeting, and all.”

Remus’ face burns so intensely he’s shocked he hasn’t gone up in flames. “Oh.”

“Someone lost track of time?”

“I’m going to get tea, Moony,” Sirius says loudly. “Shall I make you some as well?”

“Smart,” Tonks says, nodding sagely. “Replenish your fluids.”

Sirius chokes, coughs, and disappears down the stairs.

Tonks quirks a blue eyebrow at Remus.

“I suppose this answers my earlier question.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Remus deadpans. Tonks snorts and tosses the  _ Witch Weekly _ onto the antique coffee table beside her.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” she smiles genuinely.

Remus bites the inside of his cheek and lowers himself heavily onto the sofa next to her feet. Her socks don’t match — one is decorated with broomsticks and the other is a pink and green stripe.

“It’s still…” he falters, looking down at his hands.

“Complicated?” Tonks offers. “Weird?”

“Both?” Remus looks up to meet her gaze, surprised to see the teasing from earlier gone and replaced with a much softer, more understanding smile.

“It’s like there’s this strange dissonance,” Remus says, “between feeling like everything’s just like it was while also knowing that  _ everything _ has changed, and perhaps we don’t know each other as well as we’d like to think.”

Tonks hums thoughtfully, toes wriggling in her mismatched socks.

“I suppose you’ve got time now, while you’re both here, to...relearn each other?”

“Maybe,” Remus hesitates. “Although I get the feeling that Sirius thinks there’s no ‘relearning’ to be had.”

“Yes, I do seem to recall him cornering me in the kitchen like a jealous teenager and yelling at me that you’re gay.” She nudges Remus with her feet, smirking.

Remus laughs softly. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Tonks says matter-of-factly. “Us Blacks are known for our fiery temperaments. It’s how we attract all the calm, soft spoken ones. Opposites attract and such.”

Remus feels the flush return to his cheeks and he bats Tonks’ feet away from him good naturedly.

“Is that so?”

Tonks stretches her arms overhead, grinning widely as her back cracks satisfyingly. “It’s basic maths, Lupin. I don’t make the rules.”

“Shove over.”

Sirius has returned from the kitchen, carefully levitating three mugs of steaming tea before him.

“Aww, is that for me?” Tonks curls her feet beneath her and Sirius sits between them, mugs landing softly on the coffee table. “You know, I really prefer coffee.”

“It’s apology tea, you ungrateful wench,” Sirius scowls.

“Calm down, old man,” Tonks snickers. She sips at her tea and turns a grimace into a fake smile. “What I meant was I actually really love very milky tea.”

Remus smiles as they continue bickering, settling back to enjoy his perfectly milky, sugary tea. His gaze shifts to linger on Sirius, the sarcastic smirk lighting up his eyes, the strands of silky soft hair slipping from behind his ear to fall over his face. Remus reaches up and brushes them back into place without thinking twice. 

Sirius turns to smile at him, eyes bright, cheek pressing into Remus’ palm. Warmth spreads through Remus’ stomach and he can’t stop the idiotic grin that tugs at his lips.

“Oh God, you two are  _ disgusting _ ,” Tonks wails.

Laughter bubbles up and bursts from Remus, loud and genuine. It feels so good, so  _ right _ , to be sitting here laughing with the man he knows he loves, always has loved, and a new, real friend. It muffles the doubt and uncertainty, the paralysing fear of what’s to come.

For now, at least, it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this; the second I saw the prompt it sort of just exploded from me and made me severely neglect all other creative duties *hides in shame*  
> It was very interesting to explore this side of their relationship, all broken and hurt and not really understanding one another. I also immensely enjoyed writing Tonks -- I tried my hardest to show how she and Remus could build a very real friendship, and later, relationship (something that was very severely lacking in canon). She is so much fun to write, I might have to try my hand at a real Remadora fic in the future...  
> I appreciate and love any and all comments and kudos!  
> <3


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